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  "Ladies and gentlemen of all nations and races," boomed an announcer's voice. "This is the ninth fight on this evening's card. In the Medium Class, from the stable of Lord Brighton, we have Hermes II. Its pilot, for this evening, is Billy Wolfson."

  The cheering in Baron von Summer's box echoed, in a small part, the thunderous ovation from below.

  18

  Solaris VII (The Game World)

  Rahneshire, Lyran Commonwealth

  20 February 3027

  Justin Xiang reached out with his right hand to adjust the volume on his external microphone. The crowd's applause for Billy Wolfson and his Hermes II did not surprise Justin, but the vibrant insistency of it did. They dearly want him to win. The loud ovation rasped across his brain like sandpaper and threatened to release the anxiety he'd earlier managed to lock away with a round of tai chi chuan exercises.

  I've never fought before an audience, Justin thought, then involuntary laughter filled his neurohelmet. That's the least of your worries, he reminded himself. You've never fought without your left arm before, either.

  He glanced over at the synthetic limb. The ribbon cable, freed from the compartment at his wrist, had neatly clicked into place on the arm rest, and Justin had closed the fingers of his metal hand around the joystick. He did not want the limb falling and jerking the cable free in the middle of combat. Checking and double-checking, he verified his ability to control the Vindicator's left arm. The 'Mech's hand and the small laser both functioned normally, as reported by the test lights flashing on his command console. He also verified that the missile control was operational for the LRMs. Though they launched from the Vindicator's torso, their controls were also on the left joystick.

  Justin's "good" hand controlled the 'Mech's major weapons. The PPC occupying the whole of the Vindicator's right forearm, and the medium laser built into the 'Mech's head were both controlled by the right hand. The joystick control led the targeting system, and the buttons fired the weapons exactly the way Justin remembered it in the simulator on Sakhara.

  Justin watched Wolfson's Hermes II march into the arena. Slightly to the right and just above the 'Mech's waist, Justin saw the wide maw of an autocannon. Remembering how the Rifleman's autocannon had shredded his Valkyrie in the duel on Kittery, he felt a sudden cold chill.

  In an effort to regain control of himself, Justin focused upon the humanoid 'Mech he had to destroy. He knew that it carried a medium laser in its right forearm. Though a formidable weapon, it did not worry him. That flamer, on the other hand . . .

  The weapon formed the 'Mech's truncated left arm. Six canisters of fuel, each about the size of a small aircar, ringed a slender cylinder. It opened into a nozzle that most resembled the muzzle of an ancient blunderbuss and measured almost a full meter across. Despite attempts to keep it painted, the nozzle showed only the carbon buildup easily associated with a flamethrower.

  Justin nodded his head as the blue and gray Hermes stopped and raised its right hand to salute the crowd. That flame-thrower could bake him inside the Vindicator and force him to eject. Though fire really could not damage his 'Mech, it could prematurely end the fight and rob him of victory. I cannot allow myself to lose.

  The announcer's voice burst in on Justin's thoughts. "And from Teng Stables, we have a Vindicator'

  Justin slowly and deliberately walked the humanoid Vindicator onto the field. It had been Vindicators that had once turned House Davion back at Tikonov. How fitting for me to use one now to embarrass the Federated Suns. Justin raised the 'Mech's left arm to wave at the crowd huddled invisibly behind the mirrored arena walls. Though he heard none of the applause given to Wolfson, he forced the irritation away. Victors deserve praise, not combatants.

  The announcer's voice, tinged with excitement, again filled the arena and Justin's neurohelmet. "We've just received word that Baron von Summer has issued an invitation for the victor to come to his private box after the battle," Justin heard him say.

  Wolfson's Hermes turned toward Lestrade's box and saluted, and Justin's 'Mech followed suit, though its pilot performed the action without thought. He knows. He must know the fight has been rigged. Justin chuckled to himself. Billy Wolfson is in for a rude shock.

  "Let the game begin!"

  The Hermes immediately triggered a burst of autocannon fire that raked across the Vindicator, blasting small craters into the torso armor. Justin jerked his 'Mech to the right and dropped to one knee as the Hermes's laser sliced through the air and splintered against the windows around the arena.

  Justin popped open the LRM compartment in the Vindicator's chest and launched a flight of five missiles at the Hermes. Wolfson quickly moved his 'Mech to the left, keeping the PPC out of line, evading all but one of the missiles. The one that hit peeled back some armor on the Hermes's left leg, while the other missile exploded against the protective screen.

  Concentrate, Justin! You can't afford any sloppy shots! He darted a quick glance at the prosthesis to assure himself that the cable had not broken free. Wolfson thinks the fight is fixed. Use it against him.

  Wolfson's return shots from both the autocannon and the medium laser slammed into the Vindicator's chest. Autocannon rounds smashed into Justin's armor, tearing divots from it. The laser, firing on the same targeted spot, cauterized the autocannon wounds and melted them into ugly scars. The Hermes followed up its shots and closed the gap between the two 'Mechs.

  Justin continued to circle his Vindicator to the right, then stopped and pivoted on his left foot to swing around and lunge at the Hermes with his PPC. His right index finger tightened up on the trigger, and his middle finger jerked the trigger for his medium laser. The heat monitors in the cockpit blazed up from green into the red zone, but Justin ignored the computer's keening complaint about excess heat. The Hermes, moving in, strolled directly into his fire zone.

  The laser stitched a stuttering line across the Hermes's eyes, and the 'Mech jerked as Wolfson reacted to the blinding scarlet light. The beam itself did little more than melt an outer layer of the pilot's canopy, but the shot distracted Wolfson from the need to turn and face the Vindicator's attack.

  An azure whip of pure energy lashed out at the Hermes. The PPC's beam stabbed at the Hermes's left arm and ripped armor from the flamer with the ease of a cyclone tearing shingles from a roof. The beam caressed the Hermes for less than three terrible seconds, but that was enough to strip all but the barest of armor from the smaller 'Mech's fearsome weapon. Suddenly, the flamethrower became a bomb strapped to the side of the Hermes, and Wolfson's quick turn showed that he realized the outcome of the fight was not fixed, after all.

  As Justin's Vindicator moved toward the Hermes, Wolfson brought his 'Mech's right arm up and triggered a blast of laser fire to hold him back. The ruby energy beam bubbled ablative armor on the Vindicator's torso, but failed to penetrate further into the 'Mech's working parts. When it did nothing to slow the Vindicator's advance, Wolfson began to sprint his 'Mech off across the arena.

  Justin hit his jump jets and launched a flight of LRMs, aiming the missiles deliberately wide and to the right of the Hermes. They exploded in a line of flaming geysers that brought the Hermes up short while the Vindicator soared above it and almost grazed the arena's mesh roof. Justin grounded the Vindicator to the left of the Hermes. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, Wolfson.

  Sweat poured down Justin's face and tasted salty on his lips. Ahead of him, the Hermes turned. Its medium laser fired a red bolt of energy, while its autocannon boomed out a staccato accompaniment to the rain of metal it spat out. The autocannon slugs plucked away at the armor on the Vindicator's left leg and dotted it with jagged gashes. The laser drilled into the armor on the Vindicator's center torso and burned away the last of it. Enough of the laser fire had penetrated the armor to burn into the heart of the Vindicator.

  Justin cursed as a red light ignited on his control board. The last of the laser's energy had damaged his 'Mech's gyro-stabilizer and would force him to concentrate mo
re on each little motion or get spilled to the ground. He slapped the heat override control and sneered. This ends now.

  Missiles arched from the Vindicator and smashed into the Hermes's right side. The missiles exploded into brilliant orange fire-balls, and the Hermes staggered as armor plates ripped free.

  Before the Hermes could recover, the blue whiplash of Justin's PPC scourged the newly opened wound. What little armor the missiles had spared, the particle beam evaporated into a metal steam.

  Melted slag coursed down the Hermes's front, but the beam had failed to bore into the 'Mech's internal structures.

  The Vindicator's laser flashed to life and stabbed into the other 'Mech's left arm. It vaporized the remaining armor and shredded the flamethrower's mechanisms. The beam sliced up into the Hermes's armpit and baked the shoulder actuator. The left arm, locked in a slightly forward position, smoldered and began to leak flamer fuel.

  Justin cleared a tightbeam channel to his opponent, "Wolfson, your flamer's leaking. Bail out now."

  Justin could almost feel the fear coming through the radio link, but Wolfson's words belied it, "Can't. Got a 100,000 credit bond against surrender. You ain't getting that from me."

  Justin shook his head and droplets of sweat ran down his neurohelmet's viewplate. "Dammit, you idiot! I don't want it. Get out!"

  "Go to hell, you Capellan bastard!" The Hermes raised its right arm. The laser and the autocannon both came to life as Wolfson attempted the impossible feat of exchanging shots with a 'Mech that outgunned him. The laser cut flecks of armor from the Vindicator's PPC, and the autocannon shredded the armor on the 'Mech's right leg, but neither shot did enough damage to take the Vindicator down.

  Justin's flight of missiles sent three explosive charges into the Hermes's right leg, blasting twisted sheets of armor from the thigh. The laser burned into the same limb, excising even greater hunks of armor from the thigh. Neither attack damaged the limb, but that hardly mattered as the PPC flared to life.

  The PPCs azure beam drilled through the melted armor on the Hermes's right breast. As the artificial lightning bolt ate into the 'Mech, blue fire burst from the muzzle of the Hermes's autocannon, and a dull explosion belched a black column of smoke from the hole in the 'Mech's chest. Sparks flashed within the oily haze and the Hermes seemed to fold in upon itself.

  Suddenly, Wolfson jerked his 'Mech upright and charged. As the Hermes lurched forward, it accelerated to 97 kph, living up to its name. Wolfson held the 'Mech's right arm wide, and came in for a tackle. His laser flared to life at the last second, but the beam cut wide of its intended mark.

  Justin's Vindicator ducked under the Hermes's outstretched arm and buried its left fist into the other 'Mech's flank. The giant analog of Justin's own metal hand crushed internal circuitry and came away with wires and the autocannon's ammo chain trailing on it. His medium laser, hastily aimed, sawed yet more armor from the Hermes's right thigh.

  Wolfson spun his Hermes on its right foot and tried to kick back at the Vindicator with its left leg. He failed because Justin's punch to the Hermes's middle had crushed part of the gyro housing. The Hermes merely spun to the ground. It landed hard on its left shoulder and ruptured the flamer fuel tanks. Even as the wounded 'Mech settled onto its back, the viscous liquid washed over its torso.

  The small laser on the Vindicator's left arm struck like a neon-scarlet viper. The coruscating energy stream ignited the flamer fuel, sending a huge white-yellow tongue of flame licking up at the arena's roof. The fire snapped and crackled in Justin's ears, but did nothing to mask the screams and applause of the spectators.

  The Hermes's faceplate blew upward. Wolfson hit his eject button and his command chair exploded out of his 'Mech's head, spinning up into the conflagration. Almost instantly, the chair's gyros kicked in the escape rockets and jetted the chair out of the danger zone. Singed and smoking, Wolfson's chair landed at the Vindicator's feet.

  The Vindicator squatted over the ejected pilot. Wolfson scrambled to free himself of the command chair, but the Vindicator dropped its hand over the chair and encased it in a cage of fingers. Within his cockpit, Justin reached out his right hand to dial his directional mike in at Wolfson.

  "The next time you call me bastard, little man, you'd better win, because otherwise I'll kill you for it."

  19

  Solaris VII (The Game World)

  Rahneshire, Lyran Commonwealth

  20 February 3027

  Gray Noton stared out at the killing field and watched his fortune dissipate with the smoke from the Hermes as the maintenance crew extinguished the fire. He cursed inwardly at the loss. I should have known that anything Lestrade arranged would fail and that the little weasel will never reimburse me. I'd love to try, but I can't extort more money from Lestrade without ruining my own reputation. He also realized that Teng's victory had cost him more than just the fifty thousand credits wagered on the battle. It would cost him five thousand credits to have Teng killed, and probably another ten thousand to make sure that the investigation of Teng's death did not lead back to him. Damn! I hate the costs of doing business.

  Kym reached out and squeezed Noton's left forearm. "That fight was incredible!" She paused and studied his face. "Gray, you didn't have money on it, did you?"

  Noton started, then forced a smile. He shrugged. "A bit, but nothing really." He narrowed his eyes. "Teng has apparently learned to fight while recovering from his injuries."

  "Foul!" someone cried behind Noton. The spymaster turned and watched as people pointed at a small holovidscreen set into a wall beside the door. The camera had focused upon the fight's victor as he climbed down from the Vindicator's cockpit. "That's not Fuh Teng!"

  What in hell? Noton got up and shouldered his way through the crowd. A couple of people made to protest, but changed their minds at the look of angry concentration on Noton's face. He reached the front ranks and stared hard at the man who had just won the battle.

  The MechWarrior's dark hair, almond-shaped eyes, and yellowish skin marked him as Capellan, but Noton had never seen him before. As the camera concentrated on the victor's face, Noton did recognize the wolfish look of hunger. He knew that he had once worn that same expression. This one is a killer.

  "Not fair!" shouted a noble from the Federated Suns, brandishing bet stubs as though they were legal documents. "We wagered that Billy Wolfson would defeat Fuh Teng! We were cheated!"

  "Shut up!" Noton snapped at him. "Just shut up. If you look at your tickets, you'll see that you bet on a Hermes II defeating a Vindicator." Noton stabbed a finger back at the arena viewport. "That was not a challenge match. Neither pilot specified the warrior he was to face. You may not like it, but anyone who owns stables of 'Mechs knows that a last-minute change of pilots is not illegal. The machines battle, and any fool old enough to bet should have known that a Vindicator would eat a Hermes alive!"

  Noton posted one arm on either side of the holovision screen. The camera had panned back as the MechWarrior pulled on a jumpsuit. Noton's heart caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse of a blue-steel forearm slipping into a sleeve. Even before he had time to voice his suspicion, the name "Justin Xiang" appeared on the screen as the announcer stumbled his way through an impromptu history of the fight's victor.

  * * *

  Justin, freshly showered and clad in a black leather jacket over a blue jumpsuit, entered the elevator and pushed the button to close the door. "Baron von Summer's box," he said. "I am expected."

  The elevator, responding to his voice command, jerked upward, then glided smoothly to the left. Halfway around the arena, it slowed and stopped.

  The door opened and Justin found himself staring out at a semicircle of hostile people. "Go away, traitor," spat one white-haired gentleman. "You are not wanted here!"

  Justin frowned but made no reply as Enrico Lestrade broke through the crowd to offer Justin his hand. "Pay no attention to them, Justin Xiang. They are angry because you cost them money." Behind the Baron, Gray Not
on and Contessa Kym Sorenson had drifted in through the angry guests.

  "He betrayed Hanse Davion, Baron!" The noblewoman who spoke wore a tartan that Justin identified instantly. She was from Firgrove. Andrew Redburn was a native of that same Capellan March coreworld and had hung a blanket of the same pattern on the wall of his Kittery quarters.

  The noblewoman shook a fist in Justin's face. "This man sold out the Federated Suns to House Liao just the way he cheated here tonight."

  Justin opened his mouth to reply, but Contessa Kym Sorenson thrust out a finger at the woman. "Always complaining, aren't you, Doris MacDougal? One might think Firgrove's major product was gripes. But then it'd have to beat out excuses, wouldn't it?" Kym straightened up and took in all the Federated Suns nobility with one harsh stare. "You all bet your nationality, but just because Hanse Davion's troops regularly defeat Liao's soldiers doesn't mean the same has to happen here. Perhaps gripes and excuses fall behind one other product of Firgrove—errors of judgement!"

  The Davion nobles drew back from the Contessa's assault, but Enrico Lestrade did not let them escape. "This man won, and he is my guest. You'd not want me to go back on my word, would you? As I recall, all of you thought that an invitation to the victor was a good idea, especially when you thought it would be Billy Wolfson! Whoever doesn't like it here may leave right now."

  Lestrade's challenge broke the ranks of the angry nobles, who drifted off in pairs or trios to stare coldly at Justin. Their remarks, which included words like "traitor" and "bastard," were voiced just loudly enough to reach Justin. Kym Sorenson glared back at the Capellan March nobles and slipped her arm through Justin's as she steered him toward the bar and well away from the deprecating whispers.

  Away from the angry nobles, Justin jerked his left arm from the Contessa's grasp. "I do not need your protection, my lady!"

  Kym flashed an arctic blue stare at Justin. "I am not protecting you, Mr. Xiang," she said coldly, looking past him toward the other Federated Suns contingent. "I despise boors and poor losers," she said. "You are merely a convenient vehicle for getting under their skin."